Love Everlasting

by Tracey Alvarez

  Darby’s tone cut him to the core. In it he heard the hesitation of a woman who’d been let down many times before, but also the hope that this time someone would have her back. She didn’t need to beg, because he knew how damn important this was to her.

  He understood now that there was very little he wouldn’t do for this woman, other than allow himself to love her the way she deserved to be loved.

  “I’ll do it,” he said simply.

  Darby grabbed her stepmother’s and stepsister’s hands and, with them, ducked into a sweeping bow. Audience applause rang in her ears, and as she straightened, she glanced sideways to Reid, standing on center stage and grinning at her like a proud parent.

  But she was the one who was proud.

  While Reid was certainly no Benedict Cumberbatch, he’d more than done justice to the Prince Charming role. He’d mucked up a couple of cues at the first show on Friday night, but with his quick wit had improvised and made the audience chuckle. At the matinee performance he’d upped his game and had the many kids—and their parents—laughing out loud in all the right places. By their final show tonight, he’d nailed it. Darby snickered to herself at Sally’s determination to enlist Reid as a permanent member of the group.

  Good luck with that.

  Her smile slipped a half inch as she sent him another veiled glance. Would Reid even be in her life by the time Sally decided on which production to tackle next?

  Since their “Rainbow Connection” moment, Darby still hadn’t found the right time to broach the subject of what happened next with him. That Reid cared about her was obvious—a man whose sexuality was often called into question by his job wouldn’t offer himself up for more public humiliation by agreeing to act in a glorified pantomime if that wasn’t the case.

  He also wanted her, as evidenced from many breathlessly wonderful hours spent sharing their bodies. And Darby thought he kinda liked her, too—liked her a lot—because they were, dammit, happy in each other’s company. Whether they were sharing wine and cookie crumbs in bed or getting soaked and having a water fight while attempting to bathe Duke, their lives had just…meshed. In the very best of ways.

  Darby kept that half inch smile pinned to her face as Sally came on stage to do her thank you for coming spiel, followed by the exchange of flowers and more thanks to sponsors and a reminder there were donation boxes in the lobby. Finally, the stage curtains swept shut and she could let the muscles around her mouth relax.

  Reid was quickly swarmed with admirers offering their congrats, and Darby slipped backstage past them to where her Ugly Stepsister ball gown hung on the portable rack.

  “Are you okay, hon?” Kaitlyn appeared beside her, reaching for her clothes that were on the hanger where her Fairy Godmother gown would go when she got changed. The gown that Reid had paid for and made without complaint, working at his mum’s sewing machine long after Darby had fallen unconscious into his bed.

  “I’m fine.” Darby had enough oomph left to reaffix a smile that almost, but not quite, reflected that. “Just tired after too many late nights.”

  Kaitlyn had left the dress rehearsal early and missed all the drama, but the descriptions she’d invented for all the ways to make Hugh suffer made Darby worry for her friend’s ex-husband.

  “Hugh hasn’t given you any more hassles, has he?”

  Darby shook her head.

  “I should hope not.” She speared Darby with a sly, sharp grin. “And Reid? Had any hassles with the big guy? Bedroom kind of hassles?”

  Only if Darby counted the times she’d woken in the night, her fingers unconsciously tracing the lines of raised scar tissue in the dark stillness of his room. How she’d rolled her head to the side, watching Reid—who she hadn’t had time to train to sleep on one side of the bed only—breathe deep and evenly with a curve of a smile on his sexy mouth. How it was a hassle to be in a constant state of awareness so her tongue didn’t let an accidental “I love you” slip off it.

  She made herself give a lighthearted laugh. “No. We’re…good.”

  Kaitlyn slid the coat hanger off the rack. “I think you’re better than good. I think you’ve fallen for each other ass over teakettle, as my dad would say.”

  Darby’s smile suddenly felt as stiff as the ruffled petticoats of Kaitlyn’s dress. One of them had fallen ass over teakettle, but Darby didn’t think it was Reid.

  “Well, looks can be deceiving.”

  Before Kaitlyn could reply, Darby hauled her ball dress from the rack—she was still dressed in the hateful mustard-yellow dress that the Ugly Stepsister wore in all but the ball scenes—and clutched it to her chest. “I gotta run or, like Cinderella, I’ll miss the ball. See you there.”

  She gave Kaitlyn a little toodle-oo wave, snatched up her change of clothes and car keys, and shot out of the theater’s back door like her chunky yellow Ugly Stepsister shoes were on fire.

  Chapter 15

  Darby’s phone beeped multiple times as she drove home. She didn’t need to read the messages to know some would be from Kaitlyn demanding clarification on her looks can be deceiving parting shot, and the rest from Reid. She pulled into her driveway and checked her phone, skimming through the list of messages, including Kaitlyn’s concerned texts—the final one suggesting Darby pull up her big-girl panties and talk to Reid about feelings.

  Feelings, schmeelings. Pain-in-the-butt things any way you looked at them. But maybe Kaitlyn was right. Maybe she oughta grow a pair and find out once and for all if they had a happy ever after in their future.

  She tapped Reid’s message.

  * * *

  Reid: Picking you up in an hour, right?

  * * *

  Nuh-uh. Being alone with Reid with all these feelings-schmeelings floating around was a really bad idea. She needed a little alone time to compose herself. And to find her AWOL courage.

  * * *

  Darby: I’ll meet you there.

  * * *

  She hit send, then realized he’d question this sudden change of plans since they’d previously arranged to go together.

  * * *

  Darby: You can role-play Prince Charming seeing Cinderella for the first time. I’ll be Cinders, BTW. Prepare to be in awe of my dramatic and sexy entrance.

  * * *

  She added a winking emoji and hit send again.

  * * *

  Reid: Wear the pink panties—the ones I first saw you in. They’re still my favorite. See you soon.

  * * *

  Her eyes blurred even as she gave a half laugh, half hiccupy sob at his final message. Dragging the ball dress with her, Darby climbed out of the car, giving the door a little extra push so it slammed like gunfire. Men, so easily distracted if they thought sex was on the table. She continued to giggle like a lunatic between sniffs as she strode up the path to her front door.

  Because you are a lunatic, she told herself as she slipped inside her house and folded down to a cross-legged position so Duke could cover her in whiskery kisses. She cupped his sweet face in her hands and kissed his head. “Your mummy is a lunatic and a great big scaredy cat.”

  Duke huffed as if in agreement.

  “But I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna tell him I love him,” she said. “Tonight’s as good a night as any.”

  Even if it did feel a little like she was about to throw down a gauntlet.

  A little over an hour later, Darby stood outside Invercargill’s event center. She’d caught a cab rather than drive herself, because she’d imbibed more than one glass of liquid courage while getting changed. She smoothed down the silky folds of her dress, her stomach taking yet another tumble as she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glass doors.

  Reid had designed this dress for her, creating something that not only captured her personality but caused her to feel feminine and desirable by the way he must have visualized her in it.

  A couple in evening wear, both wearing flamboyant masquerade masks, walked around her and the doors hissed open. Music swelled
out into the night and Darby shivered, froze, then remembered to slip on her plain black mask. She’d decided at the last moment to swap the feather-and-sequin mask with the Catwoman one she’d worn on her final chemo session.

  Darby stepped inside the event center, and Brenda and Marianne hurried across the foyer to meet her. Her two friends’ excited reporting on how everything was going to plan covered Darby’s strained smile and forced enthusiasm.

  “You look amazing in that dress.” Brenda beamed at her from behind a dusky-rose colored mask.

  “You do,” Marianne added, her smile stretching almost to the edges of her black and hot pink mask. “And you’ll knock a certain someone’s socks right off.”

  They bookended Darby and swept her toward the main ballroom’s open doors.

  “Oh, he’s already seen me in—” Her heels skidded to a halt in the entranceway as she took in the ballroom.

  The pink ballroom.

  And not just with the classy silver-with-a-touch-of-rose-pink decoration scheme they’d planned, but also the women—many in fuchsia and magenta and blush dresses, others with pink masks or feathers or ribbons in their hair—and the men, with rose boutonnières or pink ribbons pinned to their lapels.

  She spotted Kaitlyn in her sparkly silver and white Fairy Godmother dress with a hot pink rhinestone-encrusted mask. Raylene, in watermelon pink, sipped pink champagne with her arm draped through her husband’s—who wore a cummerbund in raspberry shades.

  “What do you think about Raylene’s idea?” Brenda said, seemingly unaware of Darby’s shock. “We sent a last-minute email out and asked people to show their support for breast cancer by wearing something pink. Didn’t you get it?”

  “Uh, no,” Darby managed. “But wow. They’ve outdone themselves. That’s a lot of pink.”

  This was not the night they’d planned. A night of dancing and fun with the side benefit of raising money for Sunflower House. They’d agreed—or Darby thought they’d agreed—to keep the breast cancer fundraising part subtle. Touches of pink in the decorations and discreet charity boxes in the foyer for guests who wanted to contribute a little more. She hadn’t anticipated BREAST CANCER FUNDRAISER to be shouted from every corner of the room.

  Darby caught part of a conversation as two women swept by.

  “…and she was only thirty-nine when she passed away, poor thing. She left her poor husband to raise their two kids.”

  Her hearing grew supersonically sensitive as snatches of strangers’ conversations reached her ears over the piped-in ambient music.

  “…aunty diagnosed a few weeks ago.”

  “…doctors say it’s spread to her other organs.”

  “…she had her eggs frozen, just in case she and Grant want to try for kids in the future. If they have a future.”

  Suddenly, ridiculously, it felt as if a giant spotlight was shining down on her, and her palms grew greasy. She so did not want to be there. So did not want to be thinking about…

  Then Reid wove through the crowd toward them, his height and probably his sheer charisma causing people to half turn to stare after him. He still wore his cobbled-together Prince Charming outfit, which consisted of black tailored pants and a quickly sewn billowy white shirt. She felt as if she’d been holding her breath like a free diver, waiting to see his gorgeous smile before she could breathe again.

  “Dramatic and sexy,” he said, capturing her damp hands in his. “You nailed it as promised.”

  If by dramatic and nailed it Reid meant her statue impersonation in the entranceway. She had a few seconds’ grace to compose herself while Reid made pleasantries with Marianne and Brenda, who cooed over him like he really was ousting the next in line for the throne.

  Game of Thrones, maybe, she thought a little wildly. Or a dark screwed-up fairy tale where the prince picks the ugly stepsister over Cinderella, only to have her snatched away after she declares her love for him by a dragon who uses her bones as toothpicks.

  “Go on, then. The music’ll be starting any minute.” Brenda gave Darby a little shove forward, and she stumbled in her heels. Stumbled right into Reid’s arms.

  He steadied her, keeping her tucked close against him for a moment longer than was socially polite. Her nose pressed briefly into his collarbone, which smelled of his cologne. She inhaled the way she sometimes inhaled his scent on her pillows when he left her bed. Steeling herself, Darby eased back, instructing her jellied ankle joints to solidify so she could walk away with at least some dignity.

  “You have to dance with Cinderella first.” She gave his chest a playful swat and hoped her voice was just as light and easy. “Then the Ugly Stepsister gets a run at you.”

  From the corner of her eye she spotted Claudia making her way across the ballroom, the beautiful gown Darby and Reid had sewn together flowing around her like breeze-tossed rose petals. The waltz music from the play began as Claudia lightly touched Reid’s arm, then leaned in to kiss Darby’s cheek.

  Darby stepped aside, smiling widely at the two of them and miming raising a glass since the music was too loud to talk over. Reid sent her a carnally infused look and mouthed, “Later,” as he led Claudia to the dance floor. Marianne and Brenda, who’d a few errands to take care of, also disappeared into the crowd.

  She snatched up a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and drained half. Liquid courage, oh yeah. Bring it on. Her gaze was drawn to the center of the ballroom. Claudia moved like she’d waltzed before learning to walk, while Reid smiled down at her, doing his best, Darby imagined, not to count the rhythm out loud.

  She waited for the vicious claws of jealousy to hook into her heart. Didn’t happen, because there was nothing to be jealous of. Reid would no more betray the woman he was involved with than he would voluntarily stick his finger under a running sewing machine.

  No.

  If she felt jealousy so bitter it made her want to curl into a fetal position in the corner of the room, it’d be over the other couples on the dance floor. It’d be the young couple who waltzed as if they were instead moving to a sexy Argentinian tango, completely caught up in each other. Or for a middle-aged couple, the woman laughing as her partner dipped her over his arm, straightened, then pretended to clutch his lower back. Or the silver-haired man smiling adoringly up at his three-inch-taller wife with a corsage of orchids around her wrist.

  A bubbly hiccup that sounded more like a sob spilled from her, and her fingers tightened dangerously on the glass flute. She’d been incredibly reckless, incredibly foolish, incredibly selfish falling in love with Reid. She’d been cruel for ever getting involved with him when she knew, as well as she knew the scars on her chest, that she was a bad bet. And the payout, if the cancer returned and if Reid had been as reckless and foolish as her, was a heart broken beyond repair.

  Reid was strong enough to survive losing his mother to cancer, but Darby couldn’t guarantee he’d ever risk finding love again if he lost her, too.

  She couldn’t do that to him.

  The music ended and the dancers applauded. Claudia curtsied to Reid—perfectly and gracefully, of course, and not falling on her butt—before her date for the night claimed her hand. Above the crowd, Reid’s gaze locked with hers, his mouth curving into a devastatingly sexy smile. Her stomach suddenly felt like it’d stepped out of an airplane at ten thousand feet, and her fingers shook as she returned the half-empty glass to a passing waiter.

  She centered herself with a few deep breaths, feeling the pinch of the shoes around her toes and the sprinkle of goose bumps on her bare arms from the air-conditioning. The hot squeeze in her stomach headed south until she was forced to press her legs together.

  Maybe she was overthinking this. Maybe she was just in love with the idea of being in love and had somehow projected that onto Reid.

  He slipped a hand around her waist and drew her in close, lips tickling her earlobe. “Pink panties on?”

  She swallowed hard, the sound competing with the thud of her heart in her throat. “
Uh-huh.”

  “Now I really can’t wait to get you out of that dress,” he whispered.

  See? she told herself as Reid led her onto the dance floor. Losing lust wouldn’t be as hard on him.

  They danced under balloons and sparkly lights, and the breast cancer pink went rosy as the night wore on. Reid caught her wincing as yet another song started.

  “Did I stomp on your toes again?”

  She crinkled her nose. “No. The spirit’s willing but the toes are screaming from these heels.”

  “Need a breather?”

  When she nodded, he steered them to the side of the dance floor and they made their way through one of the exits to the foyer that encircled half the ballroom. As soon as the exit door clicked shut, Darby bent to unbuckle the ankle straps on her shoes then toed them off with a moan of blissfully epic proportions.

  Reid grinned at her, scooped up her shoes, and linked their hands together, leading her over to one of the huge windows that overlooked manicured gardens. He set her shoes on a nearby padded bench and drew her back into his arms.

  “Please don’t tell me we’re going to keep dancing. My feet will murder you.”

  Reid dipped her off balance backward and she squeaked in alarm, then laughed when her body realized it was in safe hands. He wouldn’t drop her. Her giggles tapered off when he straightened and they were left standing at a kissing distance, Reid’s gaze no longer teasing but warm and serious.

  “That night,” he said, “when you taught me to dance, I never got to finish what I was saying.”

  Darby’s heart skittered sideways.

  You are the most complicated, contradictory, irritatingly perfect woman I’ve ever met, and I—

  She’d stewed over that for a few days afterward, but since he never brought it up again Darby had come up with her own conclusions.